the harsh sound. “No. I’m sorry, Mariah. I must leave.”
She opened her mouth to respond, to question, but he gave her no opportunity. He turned on his heel and marched from the ballroom, leaving her alone, confused and hurt in a way she had not felt in weeks.
John paced one of Vivien’s chambers, fisting and unfisting his hands as wild thoughts raced through his mind. Of Mariah in the middle of that back room, writhing on the floor while faceless others pleasured her. Of Owen putting her in that place. Of Owen sharing her with other men…with him .
The images were as troubling as they were titillating and he could not seem to control his anger and frustration as they bubbled up again and again, each time stronger.
The door behind him opened and he pivoted, thinking he would find Mariah there, come to look for him after his abrupt departure. Instead, Vivien stood in the doorway, arms folded, staring at him.
“Not now,” he growled, but she entered anyway and shut the door behind her.
“Out with it,” Vivien said, her voice low as she sank into the nearest settee and stared at him. “What is going on with you?”
John drew a few deep breaths. He knew what she meant by her open question. This behavior was not like him. He didn’t show emotion. He didn’t inspire people to inquire after his wellbeing. He shook his head.
“Nothing,” he managed to grind out through clenched teeth that belied his statement entirely.
Vivien pursed her lips. “I see. Nothing. Is that your answer to me ?”
He paced away from her and stared at the fire. “It is my answer to everyone because it is the truth.”
Vivien folded her arms. “I have known you a long time, John. I’ve never seen you like this.”
He turned to face Vivien, a woman he had counted as a friend for a handful of years. Probably the only woman he could truly call that name. Even Mariah inspired far more complex attachments than mere friendship.
“Did you know Owen wished to share Mariah? In the back room? With his friends? With me ?” he snapped out.
Vivien hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Mariah told me.”
He slammed a hand on the mantel. “How could he do that? If he loved her, how could he do that?”
Vivien pushed to her feet and tilted her head to stare at him. “Because he did not love her. You were his closest friend—surely that can come to no surprise to you. He told her he did, he treated her well enough. But love her? I doubt it.”
John squeezed his eyes shut. When Vivien put it so succinctly, it was true. Owen never talked about Mariah when she was not in the room. It was always John who had brought her up as a topic of conversation. Owen’s eye had never stopped roaming. And in the last days of his life, he had even begun to talk about marrying to produce his heirs. When John asked him about Mariah, Owen made it obvious he had never considered her in the decision. He would only say it would work out…somehow.
“But she loved him,” he said softly.
Vivien wrinkled her brow. “Mariah is not built for this lifestyle. She had one lover before Owen and then stayed with your friend for three years. She never took any offers for protectors higher up the chain of influence. Was that because she has some deep, abiding love for Owen? Or that in order to allow herself to perform the acts expected of a mistress, she must tell herself she is in love?”
John shook his head without hesitation. “No. I refuse to believe her to be dishonest with her heart. She did care for him, I know that to be true. She mourns him.”
“Oh, do not misunderstand me. I don’t claim her to be dishonest with her heart. She convinces herself, more than anyone else, that her feelings are real,” Vivien agreed. “She does mourn Owen. The accident that took his life was hideous. And she cared for him. But I do not think she was as satisfied during their time together as she has told herself, and others, that she was.”
John pursed his lips.
She opened her mouth to respond, to question, but he gave her no opportunity. He turned on his heel and marched from the ballroom, leaving her alone, confused and hurt in a way she had not felt in weeks.
John paced one of Vivien’s chambers, fisting and unfisting his hands as wild thoughts raced through his mind. Of Mariah in the middle of that back room, writhing on the floor while faceless others pleasured her. Of Owen putting her in that place. Of Owen sharing her with other men…with him .
The images were as troubling as they were titillating and he could not seem to control his anger and frustration as they bubbled up again and again, each time stronger.
The door behind him opened and he pivoted, thinking he would find Mariah there, come to look for him after his abrupt departure. Instead, Vivien stood in the doorway, arms folded, staring at him.
“Not now,” he growled, but she entered anyway and shut the door behind her.
“Out with it,” Vivien said, her voice low as she sank into the nearest settee and stared at him. “What is going on with you?”
John drew a few deep breaths. He knew what she meant by her open question. This behavior was not like him. He didn’t show emotion. He didn’t inspire people to inquire after his wellbeing. He shook his head.
“Nothing,” he managed to grind out through clenched teeth that belied his statement entirely.
Vivien pursed her lips. “I see. Nothing. Is that your answer to me ?”
He paced away from her and stared at the fire. “It is my answer to everyone because it is the truth.”
Vivien folded her arms. “I have known you a long time, John. I’ve never seen you like this.”
He turned to face Vivien, a woman he had counted as a friend for a handful of years. Probably the only woman he could truly call that name. Even Mariah inspired far more complex attachments than mere friendship.
“Did you know Owen wished to share Mariah? In the back room? With his friends? With me ?” he snapped out.
Vivien hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Mariah told me.”
He slammed a hand on the mantel. “How could he do that? If he loved her, how could he do that?”
Vivien pushed to her feet and tilted her head to stare at him. “Because he did not love her. You were his closest friend—surely that can come to no surprise to you. He told her he did, he treated her well enough. But love her? I doubt it.”
John squeezed his eyes shut. When Vivien put it so succinctly, it was true. Owen never talked about Mariah when she was not in the room. It was always John who had brought her up as a topic of conversation. Owen’s eye had never stopped roaming. And in the last days of his life, he had even begun to talk about marrying to produce his heirs. When John asked him about Mariah, Owen made it obvious he had never considered her in the decision. He would only say it would work out…somehow.
“But she loved him,” he said softly.
Vivien wrinkled her brow. “Mariah is not built for this lifestyle. She had one lover before Owen and then stayed with your friend for three years. She never took any offers for protectors higher up the chain of influence. Was that because she has some deep, abiding love for Owen? Or that in order to allow herself to perform the acts expected of a mistress, she must tell herself she is in love?”
John shook his head without hesitation. “No. I refuse to believe her to be dishonest with her heart. She did care for him, I know that to be true. She mourns him.”
“Oh, do not misunderstand me. I don’t claim her to be dishonest with her heart. She convinces herself, more than anyone else, that her feelings are real,” Vivien agreed. “She does mourn Owen. The accident that took his life was hideous. And she cared for him. But I do not think she was as satisfied during their time together as she has told herself, and others, that she was.”
John pursed his lips.
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